The counsellor resumed more hastily,—
“Besides, what is life? A short and rapid passage through this world, an indistinct dream, from which we awaken in the bosom of the God of armies, of whom we are all the unworthy subjects.”
He ended with this monarchical phrase.
“What do you think of it?” he said. “Frankly, now—”
Julião drank the last drop from the bottom of his cup.
“Is it for publication?” he asked.
“Yes; in the ‘Voz Popular,’ surrounded by a black border.”
Julião scratched his head nervously, and rising, said,—
“It is very good, Counsellor.”
Accacio, taking the money for the waiter from his pocket, replied,—